New York State of Despair
by musicnotes093
Summary: Okay, so she feels horrible. Terrible. Horribly terrible, more precisely, and also quite depressed. Though she takes quite a bit of a pride on being roguish from time to time, there are some days when it catches up to her and makes her feel awful. (But, apparently, the boy sitting next to her on the subway can see something beautiful in her that she can't see.) Reposted. Complete.
1. Part I: The Book

**Title:** _"_ _New York State of Despair"_

 **Rating:** T, because I'm paranoid

 **Genre:** friendship, romance

 **Character(s):** Maya Hart, OC

 **Pairing(s):** Maya/OC, hints of Farkle/Maya, but it's one-sided

 **Summary:** Okay, so she feels horrible. Terrible. Horribly terrible, more precisely, and also quite depressed. Though she takes quite a bit of a pride on being roguish from time to time, there are some days when it catches up to her and makes her feel awful. (But, apparently, the boy sitting next to her on the subway can see something beautiful in her that she can't see.) Reposted.

 **Notes:** Written for a writing competition in Shadowplay, with the prompt: "You're a good person. You just don't know it yet." We're currently in the fanfiction round ( _were_ , now, actually).

Okay, here's a confession: I don't watch GMW a lot. But – I have seen enough episodes (mostly season one, and a bit of season two) to be familiar with the characters. When I picked up this prompt, Maya was one of the people I thought of whom this would apply to. The plot idea that popped up along with it made her the winning character. :) This story's a bit AU/AR-ish, too.

This story features an OC that, if you've read my works on another Disney fanfic archive, will seem very, very familiar. ;)

Anyways, first story in the fandom, so please be nice! I did try my best at this!

Please enjoy!

* * *

For some reason, the subway seems darker, dingier, smellier, and more irritating than normal today. Maya wants to think that it's because midweek commutes, even on afternoons like this, always bring more people and thus inevitably worsens those already none-too-pleasing features of this place—but, really, she knows better.

Okay, so she feels horrible. Terrible. Horribly terrible, more precisely, and also quite depressed. Though she takes quite a bit of a pride on being roguish from time to time, there are some days when it catches up to her and makes her feel awful. Like this past week. Her seemingly innate habit of opening her mouth on issues and topics she should probably keep it close on got her in trouble again. Mr. Linley said something in English class that made her feel uncomfortable and which she felt was bordering derogatory, so she spoke up. What else was she supposed to do?

Given, how she handled that wasn't stellar. She could've just told the principal like how the other kids in class did instead of humiliating their teacher in front of the class. _However,_ she knows she was in the right, and it should've been what counted.

Though she was given the clear last Friday, getting away with only a light reproof, it was pointed out to her (once again) that she's a bad influence on the other children. She's the rotten apple that would eventually spoil the bunch if left uncontrolled, the 'But What Else Would You Expect? She'll Only Be Good At Being Bad' kid.

They didn't think she heard them, but she did. She knows she shouldn't believe them, because Riley has said that it's not true, that they just don't know the real her. Even Mr. and Mrs. Matthews, whose opinions she secretly highly esteemed, has advised her to only lend her ears on what's constructive and turn them away from what's destructive.

Still. It hurts. After all, who wants to be the person who others only expect failure from?

Usually, thoughts like these don't sit and stew inside her for very long, but after the very unfortunate, overtly cumbersome, and sadly best friend-less weekend (to which she truly, deeply, and very sarcastically thanks the flu going around the school district for), the negativity hasn't gone away. The weather hasn't been of much help either. The October weather is starting to set in, with its crisp and mildly cutting low temperatures triggering the gradual erosion of the once-green trees all over the city. The sun doesn't come out much anymore now, but then again that's always been a hazard of living in the East Coast.

Maya pulls her jacket tighter around her as a gust of chilly air thickly sweeps through the subway along with the newly arrived commuters. She shivers a little as she frowns at her worn-out shoes.

"Bad day, huh?"

She looks up and finds the boy sitting next to her smiling at her. He's dark-skinned and has a rather thin, unintimidating frame. He has an easy lean on him which makes him appear very approachable, but his somewhat confusing choice in wardrobe, with the sensible dark gray windbreaker but overlapping, mismatched print scarves, can make one think twice. The thick-rimmed glasses he's sporting doesn't improve his odd look, either.

She doesn't really know what to make of him. "What's it to you?" comes out of her mouth rather uncordially.

He just shrugs, the smile on his face growing. "Nothing. Just making conversation, that's all," he says then picks the book he has clipped on his hand back up to continue reading.

She eyes him suspiciously, particularly the belongings he has around him. The bulky backpack and the stack of books on his lap tell her he's a student. He looks to be about the same age as she is, but she's not sure. She checks the novel he's reading. _The Things They Carried. Tim O'Brien._

It catches her by surprise when he looks up at her. Instinctively, she looks away and pretends she wasn't caught.

He, meanwhile, hides his grin behind the pages. "It's a really good book," he tells her in an effort to make things less awkward. "It's about the author's experience when he was in Vietnam during the war. It starts off with him talking about the equipment they had to carry while they were there, but as the book progresses, it shows that what they carried physically is nothing compared to what they have to carry mentally and emotionally. I guess that's the reason why I like it. It's true." He looks at her. "It's really what's inside a person that we have to pay attention to."

"Sounds…deep," she says uncertainly.

"Isn't it?" he agrees as he goes to another page.

"You're not in middle school, are you?" she asks.

"No," he says. "I know I don't look it, but I'm in high school. Freshman."

"Oh." _That explains the book._ "I heard high school sucks."

He puts the book down. "As much as I want to disagree with that, it hadn't been proven to me otherwise," he says. He shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe it'll get better. It's just the new school and me having to deal with the weird stares again. It really wouldn't have been so bad if my sister helps me adjust, but I don't think she wants to be seen with me. Something about her being an upperclassman now and me being an underclassman."

She smirks. "Sounds like you're the one having a bad day."

The grin comes back to his face. "Yeah. I guess so," he admits resignedly. "What about you? Got any older siblings giving you a hard time, too?"

Truthfully, she doesn't want to give him an answer because for one, she doesn't know who he is, and two, she's really not inclined to. But then again, she doesn't have anyone to share her thoughts with. Maybe Riley, later, but she does like the idea of venting to someone whose first instinct wouldn't be to reassure her and who she would probably never see again. So, she replies, "Nope. Just me. Actually, I'm the one giving people a hard time."

"Oh, are you?"

"Yeah," she says. She sighs. "People don't like me much because of it."

"What about you? Do you still like yourself?"

"Honestly, I don't know," she says. "There are things I don't regret doing because I know they're right, but it seems like even if that's the case, I still disappoint other people. I see it in their faces. I see it in my mom's face, I see it in my best friend's parents' faces. It's awful, because their opinions matter to me the most. My best friend is always supportive, but from time to time I can see she feels sorry for me. She doesn't mean to, but it happens. Other people just don't think much of me, and lately, I'm starting to think that they have a good reason to."

"And what reason would that be?"

"I'm a bad person. I'm not capable of any change," she says, and the words sting much more when she hears herself saying them out loud. "I'm not like Riley. I won't turn into this smart and innovative and good girl who will change the world one day. I'm just like the caterpillar in the bunch that dies in the cocoon. I'm just going to stay ugly forever."

He chuckles, and though she hoped he wouldn't feel bad for her, that opposite reaction still offends her. "Well, thank goodness you're not a caterpillar," he says.

 _What does this jerk mean by that?_ "What do you mean?"

A loud, mechanical noise echoes through the tunnel as a train comes in, causing him to speak a little louder. "I mean maybe you're underestimating yourself," he says, gathering his belongings as he stands up. "You're a good person. You just don't know it yet."

He turns around after that with a smile for a goodbye and leaves. She stares at him as he joins the dissipating crowd draining inwards the newly arrived train, intrigued by what he has just brought to her attention.

 _You're a good person. You just don't know it yet._ No one has said something like that to her before. It makes her wonder what's really inside of her the more she thinks about it. It also makes her feel light and adventurous, because it gives her a new perspective on her limits and how far she could mold previous expectations.

The train rolls off the station and is gone in a matter of seconds, leaving the room breathless, cold, and dead.

She glances at the empty space beside her.

She wishes she had asked for his name.

 **. . .**

"So we meet again."

She lifts her eyes up from her sketchbook and smirks when she recognizes him. "That's the best you've got?" she challenges.

He laughs. "You've met me before. You should've known not to expect too much," he says as he takes the empty seat beside her. "I'm not very gifted when it comes to greetings."

Two months has passed since they last spoke to each other, and the falling leaves outside had been replaced with falling snow. She still hasn't forgotten him after all that time, mostly because she has spent the first few weeks after their conversation kind of keeping a lookout for him. It wasn't because she liked him—not that there's something wrong with liking him, of course. Even with his slight nosiness and dowdy sense of style, which, as she can see, still hasn't changed, there were some things about him that made him affable. She just thinks attraction wasn't the reason.

It's really what he said. There are a tremendously few people who's ever pushed her to challenge her future, and he had unknowingly included himself in that short list that day. Seeing that keeping him close as a friend is not a possibility for them, she wanted to at least thank him for the vote of confidence.

However, after not seeing him in the subway, she gave up hope and decided to just let it go.

Now, as circumstance would have it, they cross paths again.

She eyes him with hitched brows and an amused smile as he tries to settle in his seat, his big, off-white bubble coat nearly swallowing him whole. She wants to laugh so much, but she finds that she's a tad bit more interested to see whether he'll get to settle down before he vanishes in his own personal quicksand.

He unzips the top half of his coat to give himself room to breathe then turns to her. For a moment, they're just looking at each other. Then, he scoffs, a smile pulling at an edge of his lips. "Okay. Come on. Out with it," he says. "I know you're itching to make a coat joke, too."

She finally allows herself to grin. "You look like a big marshmallow," she says.

Instead of offending him, her statement seems to only fascinate him. "Huh. That one actually isn't too bad."

" _Isn't_ too bad?"

"Yeah," he nods, pulling on his scarves (today a combination of a navy blue scarf and a gray and crimson striped one) to prevent them from strangling him. "I've heard worse from the people in my class."

"What did they say?"

"They said I look like the Michelin man. You know, the one in the tire commercial."

She laughs, but she doesn't tell him that it's because she can see what those kids mean. She just resumes the shading work she had started in her sketch.

"So, how have you been?" he asks. "It looks like things are okay now."

She lightly hitches a shoulder. "As okay as okay things can get, I guess," she says. "What about you? Is high school still a nightmare?"

"Yep. Pretty much," he says. "Winter break is coming soon, though, so it's alright."

Her brows draw together in curiosity. "Don't you have any friends at school?"

"A few kids at school hang out with me from time to time, but I don't think any of them want to be friends with me."

"Why not?"

"Well, they always want to either play ball or go to football games or talk about their very expensive ski trips to Vienna. I just want to read. And take pictures. And binge watch shows on Netflix."

She smirks. "You're a homebody, I see."

"I'm boring, really," he says. "But I kind of don't care."

She chuckles. She darkens the lines in her drawing as she says, "You said you like taking pictures?"

He nods. "It's really my mom who got me started on it. When she was just starting up her flower shop years ago, she asked me for help with taking pictures of the arrangements and the garden. She told me she'll give me a boost on my allowance that school year if I help her out, so I did. Over time, I kinda just grew into it," he says. "I think what made me really love it was when Dad took us to a National Geographic expedition a summer or two ago. I must've taken thousands of pictures from that trip."

"What'd you do with them?"

"Most of them are on flash drives, like the others." He smiles sheepishly. "I don't really go through them unless I need a picture for a project or unless Mom or Dad wants to see them. Along with being boring, I'm also a slob."

"What creative person isn't?" she says.

They lapse into silence, but only briefly. He peeks down on what she's working at and grins. "So you're a slob, too?" he asks.

She looks at him with a frown. "What do you mean?"

He nods at her drawing. "You're very artistic," he comments.

She follows his gaze and understands. "My desk and my closet are a mess, yeah," she agrees. "The rest, I have to keep neat. My mom and I live in a small place. Can't clutter it with too much…um…"

"Clutter?"

She smiles. "Yeah. That," she says. As she polishes her sketch, she says, "Your mom owns a flower shop?"

"Yep. My mom has a green thumb, and making floral arrangements is her thing," he says. "It's really the perfect business for her. Her old job really beat down on her. This one calms her down and makes her happy."

"What did she use to do?"

"She was a social worker," he replies with a nod. "She was okay with it for a while, but after some time the cases she dealt with on a day to day basis made her really sad. My dad saw that, too, so he talked her into quitting and starting her own business instead. She didn't want to because she was worried about the income and because she doesn't like the stress of being a business owner, but we asked her to try it for a little bit. The shop's doing good. The rest is history." He turns towards her. "What about your mom? What does she like to do?"

She feels awkward for a moment because she feels small after all that talk of his mother actually owning a successful business and his father being able to take them to trips that must have had a pretty hefty price tag (it must have; he called the trip an _expedition_ ). Her mother is a waitress, and her father couldn't be bothered with anything. Nothing fantastic about that.

Unknown to her, he has seen through the brave face she's trying to display for him and sees how his question has affected her. So, to mend the unintentional mistake, he just says with a smile, "She must like the arts. You got it from her, didn't you?"

That eases the heavy feelings building up inside of her, and it actually produces a small smile on her face. "She wants to be an actress," she says.

"Cool! Hollywood or Broadway?"

"Broadway."

"Hey, that's the place to be," he comments. He checks his watch then accordingly fixes his scarves, zips up his coat, and then adjusts his snow boots. "My sister's really good at designing clothes and making them. When she was in seventh grade, she was asked to help out with the school production of The Sound of Music, with the costumes. _Had_ a ball. She's mentioned to me once that she wouldn't mind designing costumes for Broadway plays one day." He looks up at her. "You never know. Maybe one of these days my sister and your mom could end up working together."

She reciprocates the warm expression on his face, and in that moment she finds that she's drawn to his kindness and positivity. She could really use another friend like him. "Yeah. Maybe," she says.

"Mm."

She twirls the mechanical pencil in her fingers as she hesitates on saying what she wants to say. She's been wanting to thank him for so long, but she doesn't want to make it awkward between the two of them. A 'thank you,' in her opinion, nicely concludes a conversation, and she doesn't think the time is quite right for an end yet.

But something stronger kicks in her that moves her to say it anyway. She guesses it's the feeling that he might leave again and she may not get another chance to say how grateful she was for his kindness. "You know, I've never gotten a chance to say thank you for being nice to me the last time," she braves it.

He sits up, and his coat finally buries him within itself to the point that all she can see is his hat. In an almost comical fashion, he grabs onto the collar to pull it down so he could see her.

She chuckles the same time he opens his mouth to respond. "Why do you keep wearing clothes like that?" she asks.

"Clothes like what?"

"That," she says with a gesture to his garments. "Your clothes hide you."

His shoulder hitches (she guesses they did, because his coat rose and fell). "They keep me warm," he says factually.

"Aren't you afraid you'll blend in with the rest?"

"No."

"You're not afraid of not standing out?"

"No," he says again. "I'm being myself. To people who I'll want and need in my life, I'll stand out."

Horrible dresser and socially inept, but kind and confident. _He's getting more and more interesting every time,_ she says inwardly. "I wish I had the guts to think like that," she tells him. She extends a hand. "I'm Maya, by the way."

The sound of the train echoes through the station again, but before he stands up he shakes her hand. "I'm Cade," he says.

"Cade?"

"Yeah. Like arcade, but without the 'ar,'" he says, slowly backing towards the train while still maintaining a conversation with her. "Yeah, they gave my sister a name that means brave in battle. Meanwhile, they gave me a name that means barrel."

The hearty laugh that burst out of her catches her off-guard. It feels so good, though. "That explains a lot," she says.

He grins. Almost at the threshold of the door, he waves at her. "Bye, Maya," he says.

She waves back, but only after the doors close. "Bye, Cade," she says, even if she's the only one who hears it.

The train moves down the tracks but unlike the last time, it leaves the room warm and bright and full of life.

With a smile on her face, Maya turns her eyes back to her sketchbook. However, before she can start another drawing, her periphery calls something to her attention.

She glances at the vacated seat beside her. Instead of seeing the emptiness she saw the first time, she sees a paperback with a predominantly red cover. _To Kill A Mockingbird. Harper Lee._ Her brows wrinkle as she picks it up. Instinctively, she flips to the back of the book cover. _Cade Cassidy,_ the inscription in faded black marker says.

Thoughts bound around her head. She doesn't know what the likelihood is of her seeing him again, so the most logical thing to do is to give the book to lost and found. However, doing that will mean a few things: (a) she's a logical thinker, which she doesn't really want to be because that seems boring; (b) she'll be the one to bring the closure to their accidental meeting, which she doesn't really want to do because, contrary to what he believes, he's _not_ boring; and (c) she doesn't care if she doesn't see him again, which is not true and, come on – boring.

She ponders over these things for a while. When she reaches a decision, a smirk pulls on her face.

She's irrational, adventurous, and curious. Almost everything she does is ruled by that fact.

She slips the book inside her backpack.

She's gonna _make_ a reason to see him again.


	2. Part II: The Rose

She does something uncharacteristic over the winter break: she reads a book.

Putting her 'stay-cation' bag together (her mom has allowed her to spend a week at the Matthews') is what starts her off, and as she's taking the things she will need out of her backpack she finds his book. It sits on her desk for nearly half an hour, with her occasionally taking glimpses of it as she picks through her clothes for what she's going to take. Her inquisitiveness gets the best of her after she finishes, and she is moved to open the novel he left behind to see why books engaged him so.

Saying that she enjoyed the story would be putting it mildly. _Very_ mildly.

She nearly gives everybody a heart attack when she comes out of her room the next day nose deep in a book—and by everybody she means her mother and Mr. Matthews.

Her mother is surprised, but she expresses that it's the good kind of surprise. She's happy to see that her daughter is involved in what she views as school-related.

Mr. Matthews is also surprised, but it's the kind of surprise that doesn't wear off for a long time and which results into staring and openly gaping as if something new and earth-shattering is taking place in front of him. "She's reading a book," he mutters in disbelief for the fifth time during the first night she stays with them.

"Yes, honey. We know," Mrs. Matthews says patiently so as not to offend the girl. "But, Maya, sweetheart, I'm going to have to ask you to put away the book for now. We're about to eat."

She sees the fleeting frown on her best friend's mother's face as she does what she's told. She's not offended, though, because she knows that usually, she asks them to put away their _phones_ and not a classic novel.

"I don't remember being assigned a book to read for the break," Riley muses out loud.

"Oh, we didn't. It's just, you know." She shrugs. "Just checkin' it out."

Riley stares at her for a while, her eyes steady and searching. The wrinkles on her soft features deepen for a bit. Her head tilts in an inquisitive angle. "Maya? Is there something you're not telling me?"

 _Absolutely._ "It's just reading. Is that so wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong with reading. What's out of the ordinary is that you're actually doing it even when it has nothing to do with school," Riley points out. She stares at her a little while longer. Then, her brows shoot up in shock. "Wait. Are you trying to impress Farkle?"

"What? No."

"Are you trying to out-Farkle Farkle?" Mr. Matthews joins in.

"No."

"Is it because you like the picture in the front?" Auggie asks.

"No." She rethinks that. "Well, actually, yes," she amends as she examines the cover pensively. "I do like how they did this."

"It's gotta be something more than the cover," Riley claims.

She wants to lie again, but then the guilt from the first one she's told has started to settle in. She has to tell Riley sooner or later anyways. Plus, her conscience kind of can't take the fact that she's telling untruths left and right in front of a child. So, she admits resignedly, "Okay, fine. I'm reading it because I'm curious. I just want to know why he likes reading so much."

A grin comes to Riley's face. "'He'?" Riley repeats.

She rolls her eyes. "It's not like that, okay? It's not because I like him or anything." _Strike two. That feels like a lie, Hart._ She shrugs it off. "He just lugs these things around so much that I kinda want to know why."

"He goes to our school?" Riley presses.

She shakes her head. "He's in ninth grade. I met him at the subway two months ago."

Riley's mouth pops open. "Maya!" she exclaims. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"There's nothing to tell."

"Obviously there is," Riley says as she takes the book from her then opens to the cover. "He's got you reading this—" She slowly looks up at her.

"What."

"This is his book."

She tries not to look so busted. "Yeah?" She sighs. "I know what you're thinking. I didn't take it from him. He left it behind at the station, so I took it. I'll give it back when I see him again."

"Does this 'he' have a name?" Mr. Matthews asks, but there's something paternal and protective now in the tone of his voice and in his nearly stoic expression.

"His name is Cade," she says. "Cade Cassidy."

"Cassidy?" Mrs. Matthews says as she walks back into the kitchen. "Why does that name ring a bell?"

"Didn't you work with a Cassidy lawyer during your brief stint as a paralegal years ago?" Mr. Matthews asks.

Mrs. Matthews nods. "Yeah. Yeah, Mr. August Cassidy," she says with a smile. "The man has guts of steel and is very intelligent. He's also a little scary, to be honest. Last I heard, he has a successful law firm."

"Does he have a family?" she asks.

Mrs. Matthews nods with a frown. "I think so. We met him a few years before Riley was born. His wife is a social worker, I think. Wasn't she pregnant with their first child when he introduced us to her at that banquet?" she asks her husband.

He nods. "Yeah."

"Cade said his mom used to be a social worker! He said she owns a flower shop now," she says. "He didn't mention much about his dad, but he did say he has a sister."

Mrs. Matthews places a hand on her hip as she leans on the kitchen counter. "Huh," she ponders out loud. "I heard he has a daughter, and someone did tell me recently that Mrs. Cassidy runs a flower shop – but I've never heard anything about them having a son."

The bright expression on her face gradually diminishes into a frown.

"The Cassidy's we know only have one kid, Maya," Mr. Matthews explains.

Riley sees the conflicting emotions starting to tumble inside her best friend's head. In an attempt to help, she says, "Well, what does Cade exactly look like?"

"Um…" She shifts up in her seat. "He has brown eyes, wears glasses. He's about as tall as I am. He's thin, but I can't really tell because he's covered with his jacket all the time. He's dark-skinned. Clean cut hair."

"He may just have the same last name. Maybe, coincidentally, he has a mom that used to be a social worker, too, who now owns a shop, and maybe he has a sister," Mrs. Matthews says with a consolatory smile. She spins around towards the stove to uncover the large pan that contains their dinner. "Mr. Cassidy is tall, but neither he nor his wife is dark skinned."

Her heart skips a beat. She doesn't want to believe that Cade had lied to her. He has no reason to, first of all, and second, he just doesn't seem like the kind of person who would dupe somebody like this.

Maybe Mrs. Matthews is right. Maybe he just happens to be a Cassidy whose mother took the same career path as Mrs. Matthews' former boss's wife did and whose sister was born around the same time the lawyer's daughter was born. Yeah. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's just all a big coincidence.

But that's the problem. The pieces fit so perfectly for it to only be a coincidence.

She doesn't pick the book back up until after dinner. When she does, instead of resuming her reading, she tucks it underneath her stay-cation bag and forgets about it throughout the whole break.

She doesn't want to be involved with anything that has to do with a boy who may just have lied to her.

 **. . .**

"Are you even sure he's real?"

Lucas is the first to harmlessly coin that idea three months after they return from their break. She's talked to her friends about what happened (she had to, because they noticed how bummed out and a tad bit extra cranky she was, and Riley, who, to her credit, wasn't forewarned against speaking about Mismatched Boy, explained it to them), and they agreed to help her hunt down this Cade character so she can confront him. Even Farkle, who seems very unenthusiastic and maybe even slightly jealous, agrees to help albeit half-heartedly.

However, after weeks and weeks of staking out the subway, before and after school, the boy she's spoken to has yet to show up.

It makes her angrier at first.

Then, after Lucas said what he said, she begins to wonder the likelihood of that.

She knows she's not crazy. Well, okay, maybe a little, but she's not too messed up on the top floor to not be able to tell what's real and what's not.

He's real. She knows he is.

But as time marches forward, with the spring sun testing the horizons while melting the snow off the ground to revive the sleeping trees, she doesn't find any traces of him. Her doubt regarding his existence only increases when, after she and Riley begin asking the people who frequent the station if they had ever seen the boy that's usually with her, they all tell her, "No, kid. I don't see you with no boy. You're just by yourself."

Again, she's not crazy. He's real. She knows he is. How could she have gotten a hold of something as tangible as a book with his name on it if he isn't?

So she doesn't give up on waiting, even if others do.

 **. . .**

"You're not a figment of my imagination, right?"

He looks up at her with a frown which switches to a smile when he sees her. "Well, hello to you, too," he says as he casts his eyes back to the opened book on his hands.

She walks around the bench to take the seat beside him. A heavy expression sits on her face as she stares at him, fully taking in his countenance. His outfit is consistent with what she knows him for: he's wearing a light, gray jacket over a black checkered button-up with a purple gradient shirt underneath. He still has the same backpack with the same shoes. His glasses are new, though. "You're not, like, a product of my hallucination, are you?" she insists.

He scoffs a chuckle. "No, I'm real. I'm not a hallucination," he says. He then scans their surroundings with a slight, disgusted look. "Although, with how strong the fumes are in this place, I'm kind of surprised people here hadn't gone crazy."

She only stares at him. She wonders if it would be appropriate to poke him, just to see if he'll vanish with her touch.

"How have you been?" he asks, oblivious to her thoughts. "It's been a long time since we saw each other. I've kind of been looking for you."

"I've been looking for you, too" comes out of her mouth before she can put a break on it.

He sits up. "You have?"

To disguise her embarrassment and to save herself from having to explain, she goes to her backpack to retrieve his book.

A huge grin comes to his face when she hands it to him with a mild scowl. "Oh! I've been looking for this!" he says, eyeing the book with excitement. "I left it behind."

"Yeah."

"Did you read it?"

"A bit."

"Did you like it?"

"You know, my friends think I'm insane now," she tells him, unable anymore to bear the inkling of hurt feelings she's been carrying after being ridiculed for some time.

His brows draw together. "Because you read a book?"

"Because I've been trying to return a book to someone who others apparently haven't seen," she says. His bottom lip only juts up thoughtfully. "My friends and I came here every day, and you weren't here. You only appear when it's just me, like today. We asked others, but they said they only see me. They don't see you."

"Ouch," he says. "I mean, I don't mind being invisible, but I didn't think I'd be _that_ invisible." Seeing that she's upset, he tells her, "I don't know what to do about that, Maya. I'm obviously real. I just haven't been here for some time because my sister's had no choice but to take me home from school."

"No choice?"

"That's really the only reason I take the subway in the first place. She kicks me off the car whenever her friends want to hang out."

The hurt she's been harboring morphs into a budding seed of indignation when she hears that. "No offense, but your sister sounds evil," she comments.

He shrugs. "That's the pitfall of having a status at high school. You do whatever it takes to maintain it," he says. He fiddles with the textbooks he's holding onto for a moment. "She's not bad, though. She cares about me when it comes down to it. She actually just bought me new books from her spring break trip to Germany with her best friend and her family. It's kind of nice."

 _It had better be,_ she mutters inwardly.

"That's just how things are between siblings," he adds. "You know how it is, don't you?"

"Actually, I don't," she says. "I didn't grow up with any siblings. The closest I have to that is Riley. Auggie, too."

"Okay, who's Riley and who's Auggie?"

"Riley's my best friend, Auggie's her little brother."

"Ah," he nods. "Well, still. You've gotta be familiar with the fights and all that."

She wants to say no, but she is, in a way, so she just diverts the conversation. "What'd you do this spring break?"

"Stayed at my grandparents' house in DC. My folks were going to take me to Hawaii with them, but it's their anniversary so I told them they can leave me behind. Mom didn't want to, but I was fine. Grand'Dee and Vivi had all the HBO and Starz channels and a big fridge filled with food. It was spring break as far as I was concerned."

"Vivi? You call your grandmother by her first name?"

"She doesn't want to be called grandma," he says. "Besides, she's the one who told us to call her that."

"Oh."

He sighs. "I know. We're a weird family."

She says nothing, and it causes them to fall into a brief span of silence. When something occurs to her, she says, "You know, you haven't told me much about your dad."

He looks at her, but there's something guarded in the way he does so. "My dad works in an office," he says.

"Does he?" she keeps on, her old suspicions arising because of how rehearsed his answer sounded. "Like in a bank? Maybe a law firm?"

He steels after that. "That's not fair. We never talk about _your_ dad," he reasons.

She feels as if a sharp chisel has been driven through her heart. "That's because he's not in my life," she says quietly, her eyes lowering down. "I told you, it's just me and my mom." She senses him staring, probably feeling sorry.

She hates it when people pity her.

Her defense mechanism kicks in because of it, and it triggers a surge of indifference to go through her. She shakes her head dismissively. "Whatever. Forget I asked. You don't have to talk about your dad if you don't want to."

He opens his mouth to apologize but closes it when he realizes that he doesn't know how to fix the mess he had made. He tries a second time. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," he says.

"Upset me? You didn't upset me," she says quickly and unfeelingly.

He neither challenges her nor corrects her even if he knows that what she said isn't true. Instead, he sits by and allows the disaster to quiet them both until it has fully run its course.

A long while passes them by. Then, he speaks. "'I'm nobody. Who are you? Are you nobody, too?'"

She looks at him, still displeased with what has transpired but is also puzzled by what he has just said.

"'Then there's a pair of us – don't tell. They'd banish, you know,'" he continues. An edge of his lips curls. "My mom loves that poem. She told us about Emily Dickinson, who wrote it. Not a lot of people liked her work during her time. They thought that the way she wrote and the way she punctuated her poems were strange. They didn't seem to like her much back then. Now, she's considered to be one of the best."

"Is this your way of saying I'm sorry?"

He takes a deep breath then releases it. "It's my way of saying that I hope you'd consider forgiving a Nobody," he says to her. "I don't have any friends. You're really the only one I've ever made in a long time. Well, at least one that doesn't just tolerate me because our parents are friends. Please give me another chance?"

A shrill, mechanical churning increases in volume at the distance, and it pulls many people surrounding them towards the platform.

She thinks about it. "I'm bringing my friends here after school tomorrow. You have to introduce yourself to them," she says flatly.

He adjusts the straps of his backpack as he gets up. "If nothing comes up, I'll be here," he says.

"Only one chance, Cassidy."

"I'll do my best to make it count, Roberts."

Her brows wrinkle and her eyes narrow. "My last name isn't Roberts."

"Shot in the dark. You've never really told me your full name," he says as he walks backwards towards the train.

She huffs."Hart. Maya Hart."

He smiles. "Okay, Maya Hart," he says. "Until tomorrow."

This time, she doesn't bother to watch him leave. She's still too hurt and offended.

However, she's willing to yield. If he proves himself trustworthy, then she'll work to forgive him. After all, he seems sincere and honest.

 **. . .**

He doesn't show up the next day.

 **. . .**

She stares at the cards in her hand uninterestedly. If it had been up to her, she wouldn't have showed up at school today. With almost everything for that year done and summer break just a day away, there's nothing to do in class. Really, she only came because Riley wants to go even if almost half of the student body will be gone for vacation already.

Mr. Matthews' class looks really dry of students. The teacher has kindly allowed them to do whatever they want, given that they do so quietly. She's glad that Riley has thought of bringing a deck of Uno cards to pass the time with, but it's getting to the point that even playing a game isn't cutting it. Lucas and Farkle still look invested in it, and Riley's entertained enough. She, however, is in agony of being mind-numbingly bored.

A light but clear knock on the door causes everybody in the room to look up.

For a moment, she doesn't know whether to believe her eyes or not.

"Hi," he says, a bouquet of peach roses gripped in his hands. "Are you Mr. Cory Matthews?"

"Yes," Mr. Matthews says as he sits up and scans him. "How can I help you?"

"Um… I'm looking for May—" He smiles when he catches sight of her. "I'm looking for Maya Hart. I have a delivery for her."

"Delivery?"

He nods. "I owe her an apology. It's long due," he says. He gestures towards the room. "May I?"

Mr. Matthews glances at him then at her and then him again. He nods with a small smile. "Sure."

She expects him to walk in, but instead he looks behind him then motions to someone they can't see to go ahead of him, pointing them towards her desk. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven men come in with big arrangements of faint, yellow roses, and one by one they place the vases around her until she's mostly surrounded with flowers. She looks around speechlessly, unsure on how to receive this grand display.

She looks to Riley for help, to see how she should feel about it, but she finds her best friend with her mouth open, a smile slowly pulling on the edges of her mouth as she takes in everything with a wide-eyed wonder.

He makes his way towards them as the men leave. "You must be Lucas, and Farkle. Right?" he asks the boys as he points to each of them.

Lucas nods.

Farkle only stares.

He smiles. He then turns to the brunette in front of him. "And you're Riley?" he asks her.

Riley nods.

His smile grows to a grin. "Great, because these are for you," he says, handing over the bouquet of peach roses to her.

Riley takes it from him, cradling the bundle as she admires it.

"Sorry I couldn't come that day to meet you guys at the subway. There was a family emergency. I haven't been back there since," he says with a look to her. He takes a deep breath and extends his hand to the general direction of their little circle. "I'm Cade Cassidy, by the way. I'm Maya's very alive and very real friend."

Shock ripples through the room, and the look it draws on everybody's faces makes Maya's heart flutter with pride and gives her the feeling of redemption she's been seeking for.

Riley's the first to shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Cade," she says, uttering each syllable slowly out of disbelief.

Farkle shakes his hand next, with Lucas being the last.

"How did you know where to find me?" Maya asks.

"I _may_ have told my sister about the deal we made, and she _may_ have looked you up on Facebook," he answers with a cryptic smile.

She nods, grinning. "Ah."

"Look, Maya, I'm sorry. I asked you for a chance, and I didn't follow through again. This is the best I can do to make up for it, and – I hope this is okay," he says.

She looks at him. Despite the too festive and, frankly, very assaultive button-up shirt he's wearing, her eyes are focused on his. In it, she sees sincerity and contrition. Her instincts tell her that she should be mad and that she should reject his gifts of apology, but she just couldn't, especially when she reasons that his inability to be there when she was expecting him was beyond his control. Plus, he made this much effort just to find her and introduce himself to her friends like she had asked. It should count. "We go to lunch in five minutes," she says. "You have time to hang out with us?"

He thinks about it, but as he realizes that that may be an intrusion, he looks towards the teacher in the room who, as he has hoped, is listening to them.

Mr. Matthews nods. "Visitors are allowed in the cafeteria, as far as I know," he says.

He looks back at her with a bright expression. "Hanging out sounds good."

A similar happy look emerges on her face.

The lunch goes by magnificently, making it the best one she's had that school year. The cafeteria food tastes as bland and unimpressive as they did before that, but she likes them very much for some reason. She thinks it's because of the flowers he has given her (Mr. Matthews agreed to keep it for her in his classroom until it's time to go home). She also believes that him being there with her and her friends contributes to it.

It makes her happy to see them accept him well. Riley is definitely highly impressed by him, and through her nudges she seems to be pushing the two of them together to something past platonic. Lucas asks him some introductory questions, which is good because it draws Cade to their small group. Once he finds out he's in high school, Farkle asks him many things about it, particularly the countless myths he's heard.

She smiles and laughs throughout that afternoon. Even after he bids them goodbye and leaves, that happiness stays on her face.

She doesn't really notice it until later on that day after Riley, Mr. Matthews, Lucas, and Farkle finished helping her haul in the huge amount of flowers back to her home. "It's been a long time since you've smiled this much," Riley comments as she sets the arrangement her best friend has chosen for her room on the dresser, the boys out of earshot.

 _What do you mean?,_ she almost asks. Then, she sees her own reflection in the mirror and understood. "I'm just glad that you guys know now that I didn't just create an imaginary friend," she says.

She realizes that that's only partially true the next day when she wakes up with that bright and cheerful bouquet of roses greeting her first thing, and it makes her smile again.

Why is she glad? Actually, why does _everything that has to do with him_ make her glad? There's nothing special about him and about this good friendship that he wants to forge with her. He and it are different, yet not uncommon. Then again, there's also an element of normalcy and stability in both.

Maybe that's it. Everything about him is dichotomous. He's odd, but sure of himself. He's generally predictable, but he's also full of surprises. He's spontaneous in that he only appears once in a blue moon, but he's constant in that he's always with her in mind and in heart.

He never forgets her, even if she's long moved on from thoughts of him.

Maybe that's what really makes her glad, to know that, to another person, she's worth thinking and caring about.


	3. Part III: The Train

Summer comes and goes quickly, and soon another school year begins. Though the roses have long withered, memories of what he had done stay alive. She waits until they cross paths again, and, in a matter of three weeks, they do. He tells her and Riley about the rather uneventful but wonderful trip he went on with his family to a few national parks. He shows them pictures of various trees and flowers and animals and magnificent natural structures that he has come across. They, on the other hand, vividly relate their vacation in DC and the day they went to the Baltimore Aquarium.

For the next six months, she and he meet with each other more frequently than they had the subsequent year. Sometimes Riley is there to join them, and sometimes she isn't. Either way, Maya finds their little meetings enjoyable. They draw closer and closer to each other every time until soon, they become a permanent fixture in each other's lives.

It hits her one night while she's lying in bed that something feels different. There was a shift, somehow, sometime, and now her heart and her mind are being tugged to a direction she's never thought existed. She tries to assess what exactly it is, and in doing so she feels a thrilling type of fear jab somewhere deep within her.

 _Oh, man. Do I like Cade?,_ she thinks with apprehension. She considers then reconsiders this over and over until finally, a small smile begins to grow on her face. _Yeah,_ she admits, closing her eyes for a night of peaceful sleep. _I like Cade._

 **. . .**

Things are definitely not the same the next time they see each other. The air between them is electric, and the subway seems brighter. She knows it's just her head and her heart tricking her into perceiving everything this way, but it's so mysterious and frightening and exciting all at once that she overlooks it. She can hear herself laughing louder than she usually does and feel the smile on her lips being deeply carved on her face because she has never stopped smiling since they began speaking, and these make her nervous. She must look like a clown to passersby, grinning and being so happy like that, but she can't help it.

For once, she's starting to not be afraid of liking someone. She's starting to think that it's okay.

"So, you're two months away from being a freshman," he tells her after they finish laughing at a story he told her. "Excited?"

Her shoulders hitch. "I guess. To be honest, I kind of don't care."

"Good. That's a good attitude to have," he says, wagging his index finger. "I mean, not with school stuff, of course. School stuff is important. You have to care about that. I just mean don't feel pressure or anything. High school may seem to be very important, but it's just a small part compared to the rest of your life."

She smiles. "You're going to be a junior next year," she says.

"Yeah."

Her features wrinkle lightly when she sees him slightly deflate. "What's the matter?" she asks.

He hesitates for a moment, scratching his head as he tries to phrase his answer in the best way. "Did I tell you I got my driver's license?"

"What? You did? That's cool!"

"Yeah... And, uh, my parents got me a car."

She nods, though the way he says those things make her a little uneasy. "Is that not a good thing?" she asks.

"No, no. It's a good thing," he reassures her with a small smile – which breaks then vanishes the next moment. "It's just that, they don't want me to take the subway anymore. After this week, I probably won't come here again."

The electricity dies, and the room suddenly lies lifeless. "Oh."

"Maya?"

"Hm?"

"I need your help with something."

"Okay."

He gathers a breath. "You know how I'm horrible with almost anything people-related?"

A smirk pulls at her lips weakly. "A bit."

"Okay, well, I… I kind of like this girl, and I'm not really sure how to tell her I like her."

She sits up slowly. "Oh, yeah?"

He looks at anything _but_ her, and that validates her suspicion more. "Yeah."

"Okay."

"She's… I've liked her for a long time, but I don't really know how to let her know that," he explains. "I don't want to sound like a creep. You know?"

"Well, you don't know. Maybe you wouldn't sound like a creep to her. Maybe she'll be flattered. Maybe she likes you back."

"I don't know," he says. "She's just…she's so much more than I'll ever be. I honestly think she's out of my league."

"I don't think she is."

He shoots her a look then. "Oh, come on, Maya. Look at me. Hobos coordinate better than I do. I'm a nerd. I'm a loner. It's hard for me to make friends. I like staying at home unlike other kids my age who like to party and have fun. The worst part of it is that I don't care that I'm different, and I don't think I'll change. She is what I'm not. How can I convince her and convince myself that this is going to work? That I won't bore her to tears?"

She chuckles. "Like you said, you are what she's not. You are what she can't be, and – you never know. Maybe that's what she needs."

"Really? You think so?"

"Let's just say I have a feeling," she says hintingly.

He nods. "How do I even start?" he asks.

"Why don't you…get her a cup of hot chocolate the next time you see her?"

"Hot chocolate?"

She nods. "It's cold out here. Giving someone a cup of hot chocolate shows you care and that you're thinking about them."

"Oh. Okay." He frowns. "Why not coffee?"

"Do you think she needs coffee?"

He shakes his head after thinking about it. "No. She probably shouldn't."

She smiles. "I don't think so either," she says.

He takes in everything that she's just said. Afterwards, a confident though still shaky smile comes to his face. "Okay. Next time. Cup of hot chocolate," he says.

She smiles at him, the subway station suddenly jumping back to life – this time abounding with colors and sounds that wonderfully overwhelms her senses.

She doesn't want to hold such high expectations, but something tells her that this time, things will actually work out. She knows this is dangerous, what she's doing. She's hoping for something really good, and as always there exists a possibility that it will shatter her to a million pieces more, but she reasons that she's mended – at least enough to risk another blow.

She's inclined to draw away from this, but the euphoric elation she gets from imagining him reciprocating the feelings she has for him pushes her off the precipice to jump towards the depths of the unknown.

She allows herself to hope – and her heart pounds at the thrill of it.

 **. . .**

She's filled with anxiety that Friday afternoon. He said he'll be coming today, which makes it that appointed 'next time' they will see each other. She's told Riley to head on home with her father under the guise that she had something to do. Arguably, she does. She's going to find out if she has been right in taking this venture with him.

She hasn't told her best friend about that conversation yet because a part of her still thinks that she could be dead wrong in her interpretation of what he asked. Riley is supportive and generally non-judgmental in the choices she makes, but she still doesn't want the embarrassment coming from having somebody there to watch should she fall flat on her face with this. She wants to go solo on this until she's absolutely sure she's right.

She looks around the station to ease her nerves. There's a cloud of exhaustion overhanging the stream of people, but there's also an evident spark of joy. It's the weekend, and that fact alone seems to boost up everyone's energy.

In her watching, she spots an older teenage girl who, if her obvious discomfort and visible nervousness were anything to go by, looks like she's never been there before. It's a little amusing, really – her arms are crossed guardedly across her chest, and she's trying her hardest to pretend that she's busy with her phone. She looks up from time to time, but it's almost as if she's scowling at anybody who comes within three feet near her.

Being in this sea of strangers scares her, Maya can tell. _You probably shouldn't have come here like_ that _, then,_ she thinks.

She doesn't think this spitefully and with prejudice, no. She doesn't have anything against the girl. It's just that the message the girl sending off with her appearance is not appropriate in this part of town where muggers are pretty much everywhere. Besides her stance, her clothing is calling attention to herself.

Maya looks around and sees that the girl (or maybe young woman, because she looks to be nearing her twenties) may not need to concern herself much with being victimized by a criminal after all. Boys and even men appear to be watching her, and they almost seem on guard, as if one wrong move by another man could turn them into her knight in shining armor.

She doesn't blame them; the girl is drop dead gorgeous. She has flawless, glowing fair skin, silky long dark brown hair, and, with the high-heeled boots that she's sporting, she has the frame, the fit, and the height of a model. Her features are soft and strong at the same time: one sincere smile can brighten up her face and the room like sunlight, but one glare can convey a caustic attitude that can set the world on fire.

Every glamorous and intimidating thing about her is magnified by the proud and tall way she stands and carries herself. Her clothes, her shoes, and the handbag she has, all three of which Maya has only seen on high-end fashion magazines, speak loudly about her, too.

She's so perfect that Maya starts to feel inadequate and cheap.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sight of Cade coming into the room. He's still shouldering the same backpack, but instead of books his hands are preoccupied by two steaming cups of Starbucks drinks. He's looking around, so to help him find her, she stands up with a smile.

The smile on her face doesn't last long because he soon finds who he's searching for – and it's not her. He goes straight towards the gorgeous girl with a smile on his face. He calls her, and she turns around with a big grin on her lips.

Maya's heart breaks when he hands her a cup.

Her surroundings melt into nothing until the only ones standing in the room are her and the two of them. The scene plays soundlessly in front of her, and she watches, unable to move. The other girl asks him something then nudges him, and he replies with a nervous smile, his eyes towards the floor. The girl laughs, and an uneasy grin comes to his features as he looks at her.

It hurts Maya more. That was _her_ laugh. This moment was supposed to be _hers_.

Her vision blurs when she sees him speaking to the girl quietly. He's so nervous, but he's also enthralled. When he finishes, the girl places a hand on her mouth and seems as if she's going to cry. She nods. Then, she hugs him tightly.

When he and she break apart, Maya backs out slowly then runs away before he can see her. Her sights are clouded with tears and her insides feel so hollow and numb, but she's able to make it to the empty and terribly unclean bathroom.

She settles by one of the sinks and leans on it. Then, finally, she allows herself to cry.

She doesn't ask for many things in life. All she wants are friends, family, and somebody to love her and make her happy. Is that too much to ask? Why does this always have to happen to her? How come she never gets the things she wants? She's tried her best to be a good person, to give others what she thinks they deserve, to give them what she wants back. Is that not good enough?

She thinks that maybe it isn't. Maybe she's desired something that her worth cannot buy. Cade is so complete and sure. He looks at life with hope and so much positivity. Maybe boys like him will always end up with girls like the one he's with now. That's what he deserves anyways, someone perfect and beautiful and complete.

Her heart completely rends in two.

Why does she have to be so broken?

 **. . .**

Spring, summer, fall, and winter pass by in a constant cycle for the next four years. She mends within that time, but as always when things like that happen, she doesn't come out whole. Nonetheless, she made it.

The first few months after that incident were the hardest. She missed him constantly, and she had to fight so as not to feel that way. She was somewhat glad that they've never asked each other for phone numbers, because she didn't have to worry about him calling her or her wanting to text him. It was also good that they were leaving middle school that year and had to transfer to another school. At least she didn't have to wonder what she's going to say to him if he suddenly showed up.

That would have been disastrous, if he had showed up again with an extravagant gift to thank her for helping him with the girl he's liked.

Riley was there for her whenever she needed her like the best friend and sister she's always known her to be. She was the one who proposed the idea that summer of making new social media accounts, "in case he gets the bright idea to look for you again." It made sense, so she did it.

Transitioning to high school helped a lot in taking her mind off the matter, too. It was as crazy as they were warned it would be. Between grades, projects, blooming relationships, rivalries, dramas, and even full-blown fights that didn't fizzle for weeks, she was too preoccupied to think about him.

So many things went on that towards the end of sophomore year, he'd become just a faint memory in the back of her head.

She attempted relationships again within those following years. They were nothing serious, just casual dates here and there. There was this one time during junior year where she finally agreed to go out with Farkle only so he could get over her infatuation with her (though, if she was to be very honest, she kind of okayed it, too, because she was curious if there was ever anything there or not). It lasted for about two months. By then, Farkle had discovered that the feelings he had for her were nothing more than a crush and that his heart really belonged to Chloe, the new friend they made freshman year.

The longest time she spent being with someone was five months. She thought it would last longer than that, though. William was charming, adventurous, and witty. He understood her and her rebellious streak, and from time to time he encouraged that in her. She guesses that that was part of the reason why they weren't good for each other. He'd never incited her to do anything extremely stupid, but they had gotten in trouble once or twice because she listened to him.

What really pushed her to break it off with him was when he hosted a party that spun so much out of control that she had to call Mr. Matthews to come pick her up because she was starting to get freaked out.

 _You don't need to be with a guy like him, Maya,_ Mr. Matthews told her during the ride home, his tone that of a father expressing deep concern to his daughter. _No matter how much you tell yourself that you don't, you do deserve somebody who would give you a good life, not cheap thrills like this. And I know I'm not your father, but there is no way on earth I'd let you do this to yourself. I want you to be happy, just like how I want Riley and Auggie to be. Shawn and I will make sure you don't make a mistake, even if you hate us for it._

She pretended she didn't like them interfering with her life when in reality, she did.

She guesses she knew beforehand that the boys she was choosing were not the right ones for her. They were all good-looking, ranged from being incredibly smart to lacking even basic common sense, from being extremely outgoing to being somewhat of a recluse.

They all varied, but there was one string of commonality between them: they only saw her the way they wanted to see her. They saw what they needed her to be, and their admiration went nowhere past what was superficial. Besides Farkle, they all forced her into these little molds, and at times it even felt like they were just using her as a stepping stone for their status, just so they could say that they were dating somebody as if it was a validation of their manliness.

It was on times when she thought of that that she'd start thinking of him. He was the only boy who saw the beauty that lies within her, the only one who saw potential she didn't know she had. She still remembered the words he had said, about her being good and her not knowing it. It surprised her to realize how much impact that has had on her, because yes, she can be good – and now she knows it.

But then, she'd just turn over on her bed, and off the memory of him would go. She would forget him again to make way for concerns over college applications, scholarship deadlines, and graduation.

It was better that way anyways. It hurts less, and at least she doesn't have to mourn the love that was never meant for her.

Above all, she wouldn't long for a person that she won't ever see again.

 **. . .**

She scoffs with disdain after checking her watch. Of all the days this could happen to her, it had to be today. She's dead tired, and she's yet to finish packing for Skidmore. Not only that, she still need to look over a few papers for her scholarship at the prestigious school, which always confuses her no matter how many times she's gone over it. She also wants to sleep early so she'd be ready tomorrow to go with her mother, Riley, and Mrs. Matthews shopping for their graduation outfits.

But as turns of events would have it, she is to suffer.

She crosses her arms with a huff. _This is the worst day ever,_ she thinks glumly as she stands by the platform, looking down the tracks bitterly.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Ms. Maya Hart."

She looks up in surprise at the sound of the deeper voice and was dumbstruck. Her tongue weighs a ton all of a sudden so all she can do is stare.

His smile is still the same, but many things about him had changed. For one, he's at least half a foot taller than she is. She can't look him in the eye without having to look up. His features still have a gentle quality in it, but it's more mature than she remembered. He doesn't dress the same way anymore either. The loud and whacky combinations have been replaced with more neutral and subdued colors. At the moment, he's wearing dark jeans and a blue button-up shirt with the sleeves pulled to the elbows. The huge backpack is gone and is now replaced with a sensible messenger bag.

He's still wearing glasses, though.

"It's been a long time," Cade says. "How have you been doing?"

She snaps out of her thinking, and it causes pent up hurt and anger to rush back in her. Instead of smiling back, she shrugs and looks away disinterestedly from him. "Fine," she says abruptly. She doesn't ask him how he's doing.

He nods slowly, the weight of the awkward situation falling squarely on his shoulders. "I'm fine, too, by the way, in case you were wondering," he says.

"I wasn't," she mumbles under her breath.

"I go to a school in Saratoga now. I'm about to go into my third year in college," he continues, not hearing her. "You must be getting ready to graduate now, aren't you?"

"Yeah," she says absently, hoping desperately that the train – any train – would come.

He nods again, but this time he senses her aversion from him. "How's Riley?" he asks instead.

"Fine."

"Are you guys going to be going to the same university together?"

She spins towards him heatedly, surprising him. "Why do you need to know?" she asks.

"I don't," he mutters. "I guess." He sighs and tries to be more patient with her. A phantom of a smile appears on his lips when he remembers the first time they met. "Bad day, huh?" he asks the same question.

That, however, serves to irritate her more. Unlike before, she remains quiet.

It becomes clear to him that things between them is different now, and it wipes all hope he had of having a friendly conversation with her like the ones they used to have. "You know what's weird?" he asks, his voice laden with sadness though he smiles. "Even after all this years, I still consider you as one of my friends."

"Still friendless, I see."

"I have another one now. He came to where I used to go to high school to around junior year, and we go to the same college. He's actually my best friend," he says. He chuckles a little. "Dude's a little crazy. In a good way. I think you'll like him if you meet him."

She gives him no reply and pretends he didn't say anything.

"What happened to us, Maya?" he asks.

She turns to him, ready to let him know the extent of what he had done in a torrent of anger, but she remembers that he's never known about her feelings for him. He holds no accountability for the way he has made her feel because she's never told him. She left wordlessly, and that was actually unfair.

Still, she's upset and unhappy, and no reasoning can take her off easily from that. So she just tells him, "Things just changed."

He says nothing at first. Then, "I was waiting for you that Friday," he finally says.

She looks at him, her brows wrinkled.

He sees the confusion on her face and had to smile. Sadness still hasn't gone away from it, however. "I know this is probably the worst time for this," he starts, "but I liked you. A lot. I took your advice, and I waited – but you never came."

"Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean?"

His shoulders hitch weakly. "You know the girl I told you about? The one that I liked and didn't know how to tell her that I liked her? That was you."

She frowns. "No, no. That can't be possible. I saw you with your girlfriend."

Now he's the one frowning at her in confusion. "Girlfriend?" he repeats. "You mean Arielle?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess," she says. "The supermodel chick with the boots and the really long dark brown hair?"

His brows quirk. "I've only dated one girl. That was in senior year, and she _definitely_ didn't have long dark brown hair," he says.

Along with confusion, she's also starting to get frustrated. "I was here that Friday, and I saw her," she says. "You gave her the hot chocolate."

He thinks long about it until the answer clicks. He smiles then grins until he's near the brink of laughing. "Please don't tell me you're talking about my sister," he says.

She eyes him drily. "Okay, I know I'm not as smart as you, College Boy," she says disdainfully, "but give me some credit. Don't lie to me."

"No, no! I'm not giving you an excuse. That really was my sister." He pulls out his phone from his pocket then goes to the photo gallery on his phone. With a few clicks and a few swipes, he pulls up a picture from his childhood and shows it to her.

On the screen, she sees a little girl about five years old with dark brown hair wearing a Cinderella costume, grinning and hugging to herself a younger little boy that reminds her of him.

"That's my older sister Casey," he says as he continues to swipe, the pictures coming in showing the two kids in various ages either by themselves or with their family. He goes back to the gallery and chooses one of the most recent photos of his family. It shows him, the supermodel (who seems to have only grown more beautiful), and a couple who looked to be in their fifties laughing in the back, the four of them sitting at a poolside table. "That's my dad, August Cassidy; that's my mom, Kennedy Cassidy; and that's my sister, Casey Cassidy," he says, pointing at each person one by one. He points to his picture. "That's me, of course."

She gapes at him as he puts his phone back to his pocket.

He knows what she's wondering about, so he answers with a smile. "I'm adopted," he says. "I guess it would've made a whole lot of difference if I had told you that before. I was going to introduce you to Casey that Friday because I've been telling her about you, but then, well, you know."

A potent mechanical churning echoes at a distance, and soon the train is pulling up by the platform.

"Tell me," he says as people walk past them, some going in, some coming out of the train. "If my sister hadn't been there, and if I had given you the cup first, would you have accepted it? Would you have liked me back?"

Her mind blanks. Urgency is pulling her towards the train and back to her busy life, but his presence and the truth of everything are begging her to stay. She doesn't know what to tell him. They've led different lives for so long that she wasn't sure if revisiting the past would be wise.

Quietly, she just answers, "I did like you. Maybe I still do." Then, she walks inside the train.

She sidles up to the opposite side of the train where she feels she will be safe. It's so cold and dead in there, but she knows it's too late now.

She ventures one last glance at him just as the doors are closing, but instead of seeing him on the other side of the glass, watching on as she pulls away from him forever, she sees him rushing into the decreasing gap between the metals to make it inside.

Onlookers stare at him like he's done something very stupid (and it could have been, if he had been a second too late and those doors got him).

She just stares at him, period.

A big smile comes to his face as he walks up next to her. "One thing that, uh, college teaches you is that at times, you have to do things out of your comfort zone," he starts. He tilts his head inquisitively. "Maya Hart, are you in a relationship?"

An amused smile slowly rises to her face. "No," she says.

"Fantastic. I'm not in a relationship either," he says. "Would you like to get some pizza? Or, you know, whatever's available at where we'll be getting off at?"

She chuckles, elated at this unexpected turn of events. "Yeah," she says. "Pizza sounds good."

She was wrong. This is the _best_ day ever.

 **. . .**

 _Click!_

It startles her out of her reverie. She looks around the nearly empty metro and finds Cade adjusting his camera, chuckling. "What was that for?" she demands, playfully swatting at his arm with a grin.

He shrugs. "They asked me to take pictures of the best sights in London, so I took a picture of you," he says.

She shakes her head, failing miserably at trying to act like what he said didn't flatter her.

He sighs loudly in contentment, his breath creating a fog as it hits the cold air. He looks at her amorously. "Man. You're so beautiful," he tells her.

"You don't have to flirt with me, you dweeb," she says, cheeks softly blushing.

"I know I don't have to. I just want to."

She narrows her eyes at him, a wide smile on her face. She then gently grabs him by the scarf and gives him a quick kiss.

He grins cheekily as she lets him go. "Thank you," he tells her.

She rolls her eyes with a chuckle. He can be such a kid.

At twenty-five years old, Maya's finally finding contentment in her life. She doubts she'll ever understand how everything just fell right into place after high school, but she doesn't want to question it. She's just grateful that things had turned out the way they did.

For one, she graduated college three years ago, which she seriously didn't think would ever happen. After all of her mother's efforts, breaking her back just so she can have the best, her mother got to see her march. Maya can tell that she's tremendously happy, and though they haven't had the best relationship, she attributes all that success to her.

Her mother, as well as Riley and the Matthews, looked so proud of her that day. Some tears were even shed.

However, those tears were nothing compared to what she dubbed as 'the waterworks' on the day of her wedding. Even Mr. Matthews, who she had asked to give her away, was misty-eyed.

She understands why they felt that way. The same thoughts and emotions that probably welled up in them brought her to tears, too. After all, she was marrying the person who adored her, loved her, and promised her that he will be with her as long as he lived. She married the man who's had her heart and whose heart she's had from the very beginning.

Now, three years later, she's standing at a bigger subway in England, taking everything in with a wide-eyed wonder while enduring the cold with her husband as he worked.

He snaps another photo before saying, "I just need a few more shots, babe. After this, we can head back to the hotel."

She shivers. "That's a good idea," she says with a yawn.

"We can get lunch, too. I know you're hungry."

"Try starving," she says. She frowns. "Why are you taking pictures of this place anyways?"

"My client wants to build an authentic London metro set. She said she wants pictures so she can build it accordingly."

"If she wants authentic, she should've just come here with her models. That's the realest she can get," she says.

He smirks. "Oh, come on. This is not so bad. We get to see London," he says. "I thought you'd be more excited."

"I am," she says, watching him as he dismantles his camera and puts it back in its case. "It's just hard to look so excited when I'm standing in the middle of Antarctica."

He laughs. "Okay, okay. We're going back to warmth now, Mrs. Cassidy," he says, taking her hand. As she huddles close to him while they walk, he says, "What do you think of Hawaii? Does that sound interesting to you? Just you and me. Nothing work related."

She smiles a big smile. "As long as I'm with you? We could be anywhere in the world," she says. "Really, it doesn't matter."

And it doesn't, because any corner of the earth where the people who loved her and who she loved are will always be bright and beautiful.


End file.
